All's Fair in Lust & War. Amber Page
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his direction as he left and fired up her laptop. She didn’t really need to check her email—that was what smartphones were for. But she did need some time to get used to her new surroundings and wrap her head around the situation.
Truth really was stranger than fiction. If she’d set out to write a book she’d never have come up with anything as screwy as this. It was almost reality-show-worthy.
She could see it now: Flung: Where One-Night Flings Compete.
Giggling, she peeked at her inbox. She was surprised to see it was flooded with messages of support from the whole creative team. The guy in charge of the agency might be a sleaze, but he sure did hire good people.
She was just about to close it up when she saw a name that froze her heart.
Pence.
What did he want?
She considered deleting the email without reading the message, but knew that was the coward’s way out. Taking a deep breath, she clicked on his name, willing herself to stay calm.
Hey Babe
Saw you at AdWorld, but I knew you wouldn’t want to talk to me so I didn’t say hello. Couldn’t stop thinking about you, though. You look good. Done good, too. I’d like to say I’m surprised, but you learned from the best—me.
Did you know my agency is pitching to Eden, too? I’d say may the best man win, but we both know who that is—me.
I’m sorry I’m going to have to crush you. But, hey, there’ll always be a job waiting for you here! Oh, and Chelsea hit the road, so there’s a room for you, too.
Pence
Becky read it twice, unable to believe what she was seeing. Unfortunately the message only got more infuriating the second time around.
Could the man be any more repulsive? Was he really inviting her to take his wife’s...er...his ex-wife’s place over email?
Unable to contain her rage, Becky screamed. Her shriek echoed in the mostly empty office, carrying her pain right back to her ears.
She slammed her laptop shut and got up to pace.
There was no reason this should affect her so much. She’d outgrown him. Outstripped him. She was twice as good as that scum-sucker had ever been on his best day.
Seeking confirmation, she grabbed one of her awards off her desk, stroking the golden statue. She was good. Damn good. And nothing that man could say would convince her otherwise.
But still she heard the echoes in her brain. “No-good hack,” they spat. “Bed-hopping social climber,” they hissed. “As terrible on paper as you are in bed,” they screamed.
Unable to help herself, Becky chucked the award across the room. It landed with a dull thud, the thick red carpet seeming to reach up to protect it from damage.
Becky caught the sob before it could escape from her throat. It was time to go home.
* * *
Becky turned the key in the faded red door that marked the entrance to her third-floor walk-up and trudged up the stairs.
This morning she had felt so confident. So alive. She’d been sure that the world was hers to conquer.
Now? Now all she wanted was a giant glass of wine and the oblivion that came with sleep.
Without bothering to flip on the light switch, Becky stepped into the kitchen and opened the tiny fridge. Wincing at the glaring light, she pulled the Pinot Grigio from the top shelf and took a swig straight from the bottle.
A cockroach scuttled across the bloodred countertop directly opposite her. Without thinking, she slammed the bottle down, reveling in the sickening crunch that sounded as it met its demise.
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